


The Lighthouse

by Marasa



Series: Mike and Jay Do Movies [2]
Category: RedLetterMedia RPF
Genre: Gaslighting, I included ‘jizzum’ because they say it in the movie, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Manipulation, Sexual Frustration, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:14:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22610818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marasa/pseuds/Marasa
Summary: Rain pelted the roof of their living quarters. Night again.
Relationships: Mike/Jay
Series: Mike and Jay Do Movies [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1591657
Comments: 11
Kudos: 19





	The Lighthouse

Rain pelted the roof of their living quarters. Night again.

Again with the liquor. It was endless. It was strong. Stronger than anything Jay had ever had before. It hit him after just one shot but still the glass before him was never empty, no matter how much he tried to drain it, not when Mike was filling it back up sloppily after every sip Jay took. 

“You wanna keep me drunk,” Jay slurred.

Mike smiled across the table, face cast in shadow so he looked like the Devil.

“You do!” Jay accused with a pale finger shot in his direction. “Lookit you! You won’ deny it!”

“You’re the one who wanted to drink,” Mike said. “You’ve been pouring the drinks all night.”

But Jay didn’t remember suggesting they drink, hadn’t even touched the bottle of liquor. It was halfway across the table and out of arm’s reach but Mike said it had been Jay, so it must have.

Mike knew best. He had been doing this forever and this was only Jay’s first run out at tending the lighthouse. Mike knew so much that only he could tend to the light while Jay shoveled coal and painted walls and swabbed floors. 

“Trust me,” Mike had said when Jay had been too exhausted to move from the rickety chair by the fireplace. He hadn’t moved a muscle as Mike had taken his jaw in his large hand smelling of kerosene. “Do you trust me?”

Jay guessed he did. He wanted to.

Because back when Jay was a logger, he trusted those other men plenty, trusted they’d suck the splinters from fingertips and make his sore body comfy in their hard-muscled laps. Trust had become synonymous with that full feeling in his ass and jizzum the same shade as birchwood.

“I hate this shit,” Jay said as the clear liquor sloshed over the rim of his glass when Mike refilled it. 

“Drink,” Mike said. So Jay did. 

Mike poured him another. “You like doing what I say?”

“No.”

“What’s that? All you do is mumble.  _ Blah, blah, blah! _ ” Darkness twinkled in his Mike’s beady eyes. “You like doing what I say.”

Jay’s dick twitched. “Aye, sir.”

“There’s a good, laddie.”

Jay’s head only got swimmier the longer they drank. They sung stupidly together over the table and Mike teased Jay and Jay hiccuped and bickered back and Mike tried to act innocent and Jay almost knew better but now he was drunk and dizzy and so confused about everything.

Mike stood abruptly, ready for a fight. Jay stood too. 

“Let’s see ya,” Mike huffed, kicked his chair so violently aside that a leg broke off of it. “Step up to me, lad! Let’s see ya!”

Jay stepped up in front of Mike. He raised his fists in front of his face. They jostled when he hiccuped again, and it was a lot of effort to keep his hands up, and  _ ah, _ fuck this.

He let them drop limply at his sides. Jay stumbled this way and that like a ship out at sea. He shot out a clumsy hand to grip the edge of the table before he could fall flat on his ass. 

Mike laughed obnoxiously loud. He reached for him. “Here, Jay.” 

Jay gawked at his hand like Mike was his master and he was but a mutt desperate to please him, grateful for his attention. He took hold of Mike’s hand and the drunken swaying of the sea in his head eased. Mike was his beacon, his own lighthouse, for as long as he was here. 

“How long have we been here?” Jay said as Mike pulled him closer, his voice shaking with terror or fury.

“Hush, now,” Mike crooned. “Lean on me.” Mike wrapped an arm around Jay’s shoulders and guided his head to rest against his shoulder. “There ya go.”

Jay hummed in lovely satisfaction. Finally. Mike hadn’t fucked him, hadn’t kissed him, but hell if this wasn’t wonderful right here. They could get to that other stuff eventually, after some sort of weird courting ritual involving liquor and fisticuffs and fables about the ocean. But this right now was good enough.

Jay pushed his face against Mike’s softness as they continued their hug, non-hug. His body was responding to it, whatever its label may be, as his shaft steadily filled with blood and his nipples began to peak and his mouth filled with saliva. He left his cheek on Mike’s shoulder and kept his eyes closed but his fingers reached up on their own accord and twitched with delighted surprise when they made contact with Mike’s thick stubble.

Should he tell him, Jay wondered, that he had dreamed of that chafe of Mike’s stubble burning a rash on the inside of his thighs, on his ass, his hole? Maybe he should tell Mike that once he had awoken and found himself alone, that he had slid his hard prick into the hole torn into his mattress and imagined Mike’s fist around him, then his blabbery mouth, then his ass, and only when Jay fantasized about fucking him hard did he cum deep into his bedding, shot hot against the metal bedsprings that had been so cold on his cockhead.

Jay swallowed foamy spit. He willed his lax tongue to move.

“I want to kiss you.” Jay looked up at Mike, his cheeks flushed with liquor and the chafe of wind and the rain. “I want to fuck your ugly fucking face and cum in your mouth.”

Mike’s drunk smile turned devilish. He held Jay’s cheek. Jay leaned into it with a whine thin as lightning.

“But I’m not even real.” Mike stroked his cheek with a calloused thumb. “I’m in yer head. I am the ghost of ye guilt, yer filthiest desires. You’re somewhere back on a farm in Wisconsin, shovelin’ pigshit and daydreamin’ about something more.”

Jay hummed, nestled his head against Mike’s front. Mike smelt of fire, ash, painful intensity.

“You feel so real,” Jay whispered. 

“Well of course I’m real,” Mike spat. “I’m talkin’ to ye, aren’t I?”

“Aye,” Jay murmured, eyes falling shut again.

Mike held him like he couldn’t bear having him leave, held him like he wanted to suffocate him. He held him like he could keep Jay here for all eternity if he so pleased.

Outside, the storm roared on.


End file.
